Darkness To Dawn
by StarDxst
Summary: “Lost, but not forgotten. Lonely, but not alone.” In the words of Shadow and Dawn, two tributes for which it seems like love is impossible. This is their story.


**Another HG one. It's a hunger games fanfiction for me to write alongside my main one. This one's not SYOT though.**

 **Dedicated to TimberHeart109, InsertUsernameHerePlease, Whirlpool958, and MonkeyPower435!(along with Smiley and all my other SYOT friends)**

 **This story is centered around a male tribute called Shadow, and a female called Dawn.**

 **This is T at the moment, may change to M in later chapters.**

 **As I wrote this I realised that this is pretty similar to the Cato/Clove FF series. Oh well (oops!)**

 **(Shadow's POV)**

Lost, but not forgotten. Lonely, but not alone.

That's how I feel. I'm Shadow. Even my name, a constant reason to be picked on, is accurate. I'm not a career, or a tribute with a heartwarming story. I'm not young, or old. I'm just a shadow, blending in to the background. Just a shadow, staying still. I can blend in to the background of the Hunger Games as well, I reckon.

It's been a long time since someone's listened to me. Listened to the sound of the drum that is my heart, pounding away with a constant thump that says, "Look at me, I'm still alive. I'm still fighting for this life."

I don't know why I bother fighting though, I'm just an average tribute, a filler tribute, if you may.

A Bloodbath, they said. No chance, they said. Despite my name, I wanted somebody to notice me, even if I didn't want to say anything.

I mean, why should I talk, if I have only meaningless small talk to say? What can I honestly do to stand out without saying a word?

I'm a shadow, average and forgotten in this world. This world that swallows people like me for breakfast.

I saw her, near the Careers. She didn't look like someone who wanted to smash someone to dust.

She looked like a sunrise, a golden sunrise, with her pale blonde hair and crisp blue eyes.

She looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but here, in this dark training room. She was worth it.

I knew that before I knew anything else.

 **(Dawn's POV)**

Someone once said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. If that's true, then my friends back in District 2 would laugh at me for liking the dark, silent boy from District 5. He is unremarkable in every way to them. His eyes to me, look like a dark whirlpool of the middle of the night and the clouds you see before a storm. To them, they would say that he had grey eyes. So amazingly descriptive, they are.

However, nobody could see Shadow the way I do. I just don't know whether he sees me like that as well.

I hope, I wish on every single god-damned star I've seen since I've been in this place, that he loves me back.

For I couldn't love anyone else the way I love him. I can't talk to him though. He looks too good to be true. Any interaction and he might just crumble to dust.

I have to keep training. I think that this is President Snow's way of making this, this inequality between tributes end. It's impossible though. 3 days of training can hardly compare to a lifetime of it.

The interviews are a blur to me. All I remember is the crowd cheering his name, my name, everybody's names. I remember a jolly presenter and a red chair. That's all I remember, because I spent all my time looking at him. I hope the press can't tell. They'd have a field day otherwise. The lovers between Districts. I can only dread to think.

I still haven't seen him all day, which gives me a pang of sadness inside. I'll see him in 15 seconds though, as the tributes are raised into the Cornucopia.

Where is he? I can't see him anywhere. I stare at the faces of the other tributes, each one reminding me who I'm looking for.

And suddenly the Games have begun, and I can see him sprinting away. Into the shadows, unsurprisingly. Haha, very droll. What joy will I have in my final moments to crack jokes like these.

I've missed my opportunity to get a weapon. Of course, he'd distract me. I'm not even mad though.

I sprint away into the darkness of the woods, following the path beaten into the mud.

I call his name, which, as you think about it, sounds like I'm taunting him. Asking him to come out so he can have a quick death. Great. That's the opposite of what I'm trying to do.


End file.
